


love is a laserquest

by idleteen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, zayn really loves niall, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idleteen/pseuds/idleteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn has come to the conclusion that he might be in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is a laserquest

**Author's Note:**

> You can read the Polish translation of it [here](http://cynical-translations.tumblr.com/post/90568356603/love-is-a-laserquest)

Zayn has known Niall for precisely five months, four weeks, and three days when he comes to the conclusion that he’s done for. That all of the years spent breathing his own oxygen and pumping his own blood have been mere precautions to keep him alive long enough to die for a boy with seaside blue eyes and an earth-trembling laugh.

The feeling washes over him at three a.m. on a Saturday night in the middle of an extended winter. Zayn is wrapped up in a blanket and Niall is the _sun_ at his feet; hand draped over the back of the lumpy futon, cheeks flushed a familiar shade of red. He’s spent twenty minutes wondering why, with Niall’s star-like qualities and ability to shine across the expanse of the earth, Zayn hasn’t been blinded or completely eradicated, for that matter. It’s a proper miracle, he figures.

And that’s when it hits him.

It comes as a bit of a surprise at first; _the feeling_. It washes over him like a tidal wave (he has never been a strong swimmer). And his lungs fill with water before he has a chance to remember that he actually _needs_ oxygen to survive. Somehow he’ll manage.

It comes on too quickly and too fiercely and without a second’s warning, but it’s there just the same. _Love_ , or the closest thing to it. Something that makes his heart pound hard against his sternum and his breath hitch in his throat. Zayn has always imagined love to be a process; something that takes copious amounts of time and energy and trust. And he supposes he’s right, in a sense, although apparently for him it’s like being hit by a fucking truck in the middle of the night.

Zayn believes falling in love to be the opposite of dying—the two sit precariously on separate sides of the spectrum, teetering on their edges with all the fragility of bleeding human hearts and weak bones. He hopes it doesn’t hurt too much when they finally fall, hopes the ground is close and soft and that nothing shatters.

“What’re you looking at?” an uncharacteristically quiet Irish accents slurs from his feet.

Zayn smiles softly, delicately—completely unlike himself, “ _You_.”

“Me?” Niall doesn’t sound surprised, but quietly elated, almost like this is good news.

“You’re pretty,” it’s supposed to be a joke. It’s not.

Niall grins wholeheartedly and Zayn is absolutely certain that the earth shakes with how fucking beautiful he looks. _Pretty_ was a massive, massive understatement.

“Well, then you must be a whole other _world_ of pretty.”

Zayn smiles softly at the compliment in an attempt to hide the fact that his heart is swelling so big he’s afraid it might burst. And Niall isn’t one for shy compliments or small smiles which is why his words are all the more surprising. Zayn can feel his ribs softening and his muscles relaxing until he might as well be a pile of mush on the floor, full of feelings and thoughts of _NiallNiallNiall_.

“Seriously though,” Niall murmurs, ducking his head to look the older boy in the eye, “You’ve been quiet.”

Zayn shrugs and tries not to dwell on the fact that he is positively smitten, “Hm.”

“Hm?” The Irish boy smiles and shifts, laying down and managing to wedge himself between the backrest and the older boy’s body, cuddling into him like there’s nothing to it. He curls his hand against his chest and rests his head on his shoulder like it’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t be. But Zayn is already having trouble breathing and he’s only been in love for ten minutes now (or maybe his entire life, he still hasn’t figured it out).

Niall smells like Zayn’s shampoo and day-old clothes and faint cologne. His skin is soft and warm, and it’s a bit useless to even mention because it’s _always_ soft and warm. Niall is the sun and the stars and the sea and the air—and it’s all so exceedingly corny and true that Zayn almost wants to cry.

“You’ve been quiet,” Niall mumbles again, his mouth against the older boy’s exposed collarbone, his breath hot. His fingers rub against his chest absentmindedly and Zayn might as well just die already because _honestly_. “Something wrong?”

“Course not,” Zayn says, snaking an arm around his friend’s back and closing his eyes, “Just sleepy.”

“No you’re not.”

“I reckon I know whether or not I’m tired.”

“Your eyes get all droopy when you’re tired…and you don’t stare at me like that when you’re tired.”

“Stare at you like _what_?”

A long pause ensues before Niall shifts, resting his weight on his elbow and a hand on Zayn’s chest so he can look down at his expression. He’s quizzical for a moment, contemplating Zayn like he’s more than carbon and dying cells. The older boy’s heart is beating like a hammer and his lungs are shriveling up and he’s _sure_ this is what it’s like to drown.

Niall licks his lips, “Like I make you want to cry.”

Zayn gives a short laugh because _he can’t be serious_. But he is, and he cards his fingers through the younger boy’s hair just to compensate, “That’s the farthest from the truth Niall, I promise you.”

“Well what _is_ the truth?” Niall pouts and sighs breathily across the tan neck below him.

“That I’m in love with you, of course,” Zayn offers casually, finding Niall’s fingers on his chest and intertwining them with his. He’s not sure if he means to say it as a joke or not—actually, his _is_ sure, but perhaps he hadn’t considered what he wants the younger boy to believe.

When Zayn gains the courage to look up at Niall, he finds the biggest, brightest smile he’s seen…perhaps ever, and his heart squeezes in delight. The Irish boy rolls over so he’s completely resting on his best friend, grinning down at him and running calloused fingers through the hair in front of his eyes. And, just like the feeling and the tidal wave and the train, it comes without a second’s warning—Niall brushes their lips together as if testing out whether or not they fit. The kiss lasts for a mere moment and Zayn’s lips are chapped but his lungs are finally satisfied to have breathed Niall in.

“Maybe you love me half as much as I love you.”

And Zayn is absolutely done for.


End file.
